Warcross: Chapters 25-31

Even so, it was impossible not to catch a glimpse of the headlines screaming by on marquees near the Tokyo Dome, broadcasting the news to the public. Now I curl up on my bed, my heart pounding from the onslaught.

A mob of paparazzi have crowded there, some of them pushing past the security. Two guards chase down a reporter and cameraman sprinting toward our dorms.

“Is it?” Hammie replies, glancing in disdain at the darkened windows.

“I am your captain. I chose you as the number one draft pick. I’ve worked hard to build a team of this caliber. Even if we go on to win the championships this year, who’s going to believe that we earned it? I can already see the headlines. Phoenix Riders cheat their way to the top.”

I hadn’t planned my outburst correctly, and I regret some of it right away. Hammie looks incredulous.

“—that this morning, Hideo Tanaka announced that he is officially pulling two players from the Phoenix Riders, currently one of the top-ranked Warcross teams: their Fighter, Renoir Thomas, and Architect, Emika Chen. No word yet on the reasons behind either decision, although speculation—”

Roshan frowns, but Hammie gives me an imperceptible nod.

“You won’t be,” Hideo interrupts. His eyes search mine, dark and resolute. “I’m letting you off the job.”

His voice is raspy, desperate, angry.

“I cannot, in good conscience, keep you on this job.”

Had he threatened me in front of Hideo and prompted Hideo to pull me out of everything?

Already, the furious light had started to ebb from his face.

I’ve received a compensation payment already, so there’s not much incentive for me to stay on this hunt.

A scrolling list appears. I sift through it backward until I finally reach the day of our first Warcross tournament.

I pull up what he sent me, and then I run both files together, splicing them into one.

Cobwebs adorn the air between archways, while thin shafts of light slice through the darkness to dot the floor below.

Zero has no qualms about coming after me, too.

All I can linger on is the thought of Zero hidden behind his insufferable mask, frustratingly opaque, telling me what to do.

Wayward strings of lightbulbs hang overhead, beyond which I can see the mirrored, upside-down version of the city hanging down toward us from the sky.

I see bets being cast right now for the final tournament—and the amounts are astronomical.

Dad and I had once gone hiking in the woods at midnight, and when we had to walk through the black space of a gnarled tree trunk, I’d nearly had a panic attack.

In fact, this intimidating entrance is all part of the vendor’s security shell, to deter window-shoppers.

Security bots glide around the floor, looking like ladies with mechanical jaws and long-nosed masks and black parasols.

The auction is almost done, having narrowed to two users, but this time I stand by as an onlooker, watching behind the security bots as the price continues to climb. Eventually, it tapers off, stuck on nearly a million notes as one of the users hesitates.

I slip between two security bots that have rushed into the fray but are still unsure how to handle the hijacked bots.

Metal legs, thick as buildings. Circular chrome joints, steel sinews. Then, as the doors rise higher, a barrel-like chest, each one different in design, with powerful arms hanging on either side.

Then, it gives a mighty leap into the air—and blade-like wings extend from either side of it, unfurling in a magnificent display.

"A power-up has been activated—we’re not sure where Brennar got this from, but he has used an item that has never appeared in a game since the genesis of the tournaments! We are standing by for more info—”

The rain has turned the metal into a slippery slope—and I almost slide off during my landing. My arms grapple for support.

I struggle in vain as Shahira approaches me, her gait now having the same predatory grace as Zero’s.

As the audience roars with a cacophony of confusion, cheers, boos, and incredulous shouts, the power-up finally wears off on me.

“It’s all done!” the announcer’s voice shouts over the noise, mired in confusion.

“But hang on, folks, what happened in the arena today? This is an unprecedented hack of the final tournament! We are standing by for more—”

Asher’s voice has come on through my earpiece, and he’s shouting something ecstatically, but I can’t understand what he’s saying.

I accept it, and his familiar face appears as if he’s in the room with me, his expression elated. “Emi!” he exclaims. “You did it! We won!”

It’s the same seriousness I always see on his face, but this is the first time I feel a sense of foreboding from it, like it’s more than just the expression of a quiet creator.

Everything about Hideo’s words seems contradictory, and I find myself standing in the middle, not sure what to believe.

And even if they did start arguing with each other about the implications of the NeuroLink’s manipulation, their lives now revolve around it.

His eyes sear me to the core.

I see the start of the game, and then the bridges, the robots emerging from their hangars, the battle that ensued.